Running
by crowspeaker
Summary: Harry Potter runs away from home on his seventh birthday--and into the arms of disaster. Appearances by Dumbledore, Snape, and he Voldemort.


Harry Potter and associated characters, places, events, etc., are owned and copyrighted by J. K. Rowling and those to whom she has granted license. The following work is unauthorized fan-fiction.  
  
"Today is the day. I'm really going to do it."  
Harry Potter, seven years old today, scrawny, pale, and with a thick mop of unruly black hair, spoke to his own reflection in the mirror. His glasses needed pushing up on his nose, and mending as well. His stomach gurgled. He thought it might be his lunch, some boiled cabbage Aunt Petunia had pulled from the dark recesses of the fridge. Harry could not remember when his Aunt had last cooked cabbage--his cousin Dudley, a little taller than Harry but twice Harry's size, refused to eat any kind of vegetable not drowned in sauce. The cabbage seemed a bit thin and on the translucent side and, as with many of Harry's meals, it was either down the disposal with or onto Harry's plate.  
But Harry knew the real reasons his stomach was turning over. If Uncle Vernon found out what he was planning, he'd be lucky to get cabbage ever again. Harry didn't understand his Uncle very much. Vernon Dursley was a big bull of a man, usually red-faced. He had a curling mustache and no visible neck. He heaped praise on his son Dudley even though Dudley was a dolt and a brute and picked on Harry constantly. And Uncle Vernon never had a kind word to say to or about Harry.  
One frequent conversation Uncle Vernon would engage in always began, "What have you learned in school today? Nothing, I expect." Then Uncle Vernon would laugh as if he'd just told the most fabulous joke. Harry didn't laugh at his Uncle's jokes. Maybe that was why they didn't get on.  
Harry took a last look in the mirror and drew a deep breath.  
"It's now or never, Harry," he said. He turned to leave and caught a glimpse of a small, lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He liked the scar, though the Dursleys seemed hate it. Sometimes when he felt afraid, he traced it with the tip of his finger. He wondered how he got it, what caused its strange shape. His Aunt and Uncle said it happened in the car crash that killed his parents, but Harry couldn't remember his parents or the accident. The scar was the only connection he had to his parents. It made him feel lonely and happy at the same time. Sometimes, it made it feel brave.  
He needed that feeling now.  
He left the bathroom and stepped into the short hallway. The Dursleys were still in the back garden. Good. They wouldn't see him sneak out the front door, away from Number 4 Privet Drive forever. He felt a hot flash of anger. It would serve them right. They would be sorry when he left. They would be sorry they treated him the way they did. He laughed at that thought, but not in a happy way. In truth, if Harry ran away and never came back, the Dursleys would probably throw a party, culminating with Uncle Vernon taking all of Harry's belongings in a very small plastic bag and dancing all the way out to the dustbin.  
Now the idea of his huge Uncle dancing gave Harry a real smile. He slipped out the front door, listening carefully for any indication that the Dursleys heard him leaving. But all he could hear was Aunt Petunia's disgusting cooing at Dudley alternating with Uncle Vernon booming "well done!" loud enough for all the neighbors to hear.  
Harry knew it would take nearly half and hour to walk into town. He had made the walk on his own before, but now he felt as if he could make the walk in half the time. His feet felt lighter, and with every footstep he took, a weight seemed to slipping away from him. As the properly manicured lawns and perfectly painted houses slipped past, he remembered his earlier trip into town with Dudley and Aunt Petunia.  
  
*  
  
Aunt Petunia had woken him up earlier than usual by banging on the door of the cupboard under the stairs. Harry didn't mind the cupboard. It was small and so was he. He didn't have a lot of things to clutter up the closet, so it was comfortable enough. Though dark and dusty, the cupboard afforded him a space away from Dudley's sneering, pig face. Dudley never ventured into Harry's cupboard, though he shoved him into enough times. This morning, Aunt Petunia had hurried Harry into getting dressed and eating a piece of blackened, dry toast, and ushered him and Dudley into the car. Dudley sat in the passenger seat, a treat Harry never received. Whenever Uncle Vernon drove, Aunt Petunia sat in the passenger seat. When Aunt Petunia drove them anywhere without Uncle Vernon, Dudley took the front passenger seat. Though Harry was glad to have the back seat to himself, he couldn't help thinking that Dudley would fit better in the back seat.  
Aunt Petunia stopped the car near a sporting goods shop. Harry remembered the last time they had visited this store. He groaned.  
"What is it now?" Aunt Petunia snapped.  
"Nothing," Harry lied.  
She sniffed, her shorthand communication to let him know that he had wasted her time and she would not soon forget it it.  
"Can I stay in the car?" he asked. Aunt Petunia was coaxing Dudley out of the car.  
"If he gets to stay in the car, so do I!" Dudley roared.  
"Of course he's not going to stay in the car, sweetums," she cooed at Dudley. She cast a menacing look at Harry who obediently undid his seat belt and exited the car.  
Inside the shop, Harry occupied himself by sitting near the front door and gazing longingly at the bikes. There were two rows of them in all colors and sizes. He didn't have a bike. There was an old bike of Dudley's, but it didn't work. Dudley had broken the chain with a hammer and a large flathead screwdriver after he lost a race with his friend Piers. Even if Harry had wanted to fix the bike and ride it, he knew Dudley would never allow it. He was just as possessive with his old broken things as he was with the new soon-to-be broken ones.  
While Harry looked at the bikes, Dudley got squeezed into one cricket outfit after another. Harry tried not to laugh. It did look uncomfortable, and Aunt Petunia's cooing reached a feverish pitch once the shop keeper found a uniform that fit. Dudley kicked the poor woman in the shins when she stuck him with a pin that had been left in the shirt. Harry turned away in disgust, focusing on the bikes. He imagined getting on one them, riding it away from Privet Drive, building up so much speed that it would lift up off of the pavement and...  
And fly.  
He shook himself when he realized that he had been daydreaming. Aunt Petunia stood at the cash register, paying for the boxes of clothes and cricket gear, while Dudley made faces in a nearby mirror. Harry stood up and moved over to them, but out of Dudley's punching range. He looked at the sports snacks and his stomach growled. And then his eyes fell on the calendar.  
Harry reached out, and tugged on Aunt Petunia's sleeve.  
"Aunt Petunia, it's my birthday today!" He pointed at the calendar.  
She regarded him with a cold glance, still taking the receipt from the shopkeeper. She turned back to the cashier. "I am aware of the date," she said without looking at him.  
Harry lowered his hand, and avoided looking at Dudley who was sneering. Hot tears stung his eyes. He wouldn't cry in front of Dudley, he wouldn't. He hated them both. He just wanted to get away.  
  
*  
  
And now, he was getting away from them, forever. He had worked his plan out in his head before Dudley had paraded out into the back garden like a decorated elephant with Uncle Vernon snapping pictures all the way out the door. The owner of the sporting goods store could give him a job, any kind of job, and in return, he would use his money to buy one of the bikes. They were expensive, and Harry knew it would take more than a few days to work for that much money. But he was used to hard work--he did enough chores at the Dursleys, And he could sleep outside in the park until he earned enough money to buy the bike.  
He could make out the shops just ahead in the twilight. He broke into a run, sprinting the rest of the way. Maybe he could ride it fast enough, build up enough speed to really fly. He felt ready to take off now. His heart thundered in his chest.  
A sign hanging in the door announced in large red letters that the shop was CLOSED.  
Harry stared at it. pushed his glasses up his nose, and read it again.  
"That's not fair," he said.  
"What's not fair?" a voiced behind him asked. Harry jumped, feeling guilty for the first time since running away from the Dursleys. What if it was one of their neighbors? Or a policeman?  
"Are you thinking about your answer?"  
Harry turned to face a well-dressed man. His skin was smooth and tanned, and he had short blonde hair and small dark eyes. He reminded Harry of an actor he had seen on television. The man smiled down at Harry, showing off perfect white teeth, and Harry felt himself relax.  
"It's unfair that the shop is closed," Harry said. "I want to buy a bike."  
"Do you? They look rather expensive," the man said. "Do you have any money?"  
"No. I was going to ask for a job. Pay for it that way."  
"Were you? Very enterprising of you. Well, I suppose you can come back tomorrow. I daresay the bike will still be here, Harry."  
"How do you know my name?"  
The man smiled again and lowered himself so his face was level with Harry's. "Well, I know your parents. They asked me to come and fetch you."  
Harry felt as if he'd suddenly been plunged into icy water. His parents? But they were... they were... He shook his head.  
"My parents are dead. My Aunt and Uncle told me. That's why I live with them."  
The well-dressed man stood back up, slipping one hand in a coat pocket. "Harry, your parents did not die. But they've been very ill for a very long time. They've finally recovered enough to be able to take care of you again. They are very anxious to see you after so long."  
Harry's heart raced, and he heard the man through a strange buzzing, like there were bees flying around his head. Could it be true?  
"Who are you?"  
"I told you," the man said. "I am a friend of your parents."  
"But what's your name?"  
"You can call me Mr. Korvus. Now, why don't you come with me, Harry? It's not very far. It's just a short walk."  
"My parents are close by?"  
"They've always been near you, Harry." Mr. Korvus looked up and down the street, then back at Harry. "They just couldn't see you because they were so sick. But all that's changed now. Please, come with me."  
"Why didn't they let my Aunt and Uncle know?"  
"I told you," said Korvus, smiling a little less now, "there were quite ill. They had to be tended back to health."  
"Then why didn't the people taking care of them--"  
"Do you want to see your parents or not? We don't have much time. Now come!" Without waiting for Harry's answer, he grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down the street past the row of closed shops, and into an alley. The man looked around. Harry's mouth felt very dry. He couldn't talk at all, and his limbs seemed like rubber. He couldn't move.  
With his free hand, Korvus pulled a long, slender wooden stick from inside his coat. He drew a small circle on one of the walls and said something Harry couldn't understand under his breath. A shiny brass knob appeared set in the wall, and when the man turned it, a door opened. With a final look around, Korvus grabbed Harry and pushed him through the door.  
Candles set in brackets in the wall blazed into life when they entered. Still in shock about the magical door, Harry gaped wide-eyed at the room. Four ancient wooden chairs surrounded a small wooden table, on which sat a dusty skull. Coiled chains littered the floor and spider webs hung so thick the room seemed shrouded in mist. The door slammed shut.  
Harry found it hard to breathe. He had been afraid before, but never like this.  
"What...?"  
"What do I want? Only to reunite you with your parents, as I said. Open this."  
He pulled something from his pocket and laid it on the table. In the dim light, it looked like an old fashioned pocket watch. Gold, and with a long twisting chain, it glinted dully. Two small rubies were inset in the top cover and shone like eyes.  
"Go on," said the man, "take it. It belongs to your father. He wants you to have it now."  
Harry tried to back away. "Where are my parents? You said you were taking me to them."  
"Take the watch, Harry."  
"How did you make that door appear?"  
"Take the watch!"  
"No."  
"TAKE IT!" The man threw the chair nearest to him aside and it clattered to the floor. "YOU'LL NEVER SEE YOUR PARENTS UNLESS YOU TAKE THE WATCH!" He slammed his fist down so hard on the table that there was a crack, like a whip.  
"Korvus."  
The well dressed man spun around when he heard the new voice. So did Harry. How did someone else get in here?  
A very pale man dressed in long black robes, with shoulder length black hair and a very severe expression on his face stood at the other end of the table. He looked quite cross and pointed a stick at the other man. Korvus had his hand halfway into his coat pocket, but froze instantly at the sight of the newcomer.  
Suddenly Harry understand. These men had magic wands. That's how the first man created the door..  
"Snape," the well-dressed man said.  
The man called Snape gestured with his wand. "Keep your hands where I can see them. We wouldn't want any accidents."  
"Of course," Korvus said, raising his hands just above his head. "Is this high enough?"  
With another loud bang, ropes exploded out of the end of Snape's wand and bound Korvus tightly. A gag also appeared. Tightly bound, Korvus tumbled to the floor. Snape smile a nasty smile. "Actually, I prefer you to hold your arms at your sides." He crossed the room to Harry, intentionally stepping on Korvus.  
"Did he hurt you?" Snape asked.  
Harry shook his head. None of this could be real. It had to be a dream.  
"Did he give you anything to eat or drink? Did you touch anything he gave you?"  
"No, sir. He wanted me to take that." Harry pointed at the still gleaming watch on the table. Snape hissed, casting a dark glance at Korvus.   
"I think I can save the Ministry the necessity of questioning you, don't you think?" He raised his wand overhead and smiled maliciously. Harry threw his arms over his face, not really sure what to expect. But he he knew for certain that Snape meant to kill the other man. Another loud CRACK split the air.  
Harry peeked out between his arms. A third man had appeared. He looked older than anyone Harry had ever seen, with a long silver beard down past his waist, a crooked nose, twinkling eyes, and a kind face. He was dressed in long flowing robes of purple and wore a pointed hat.  
"You're a wizard, aren't you?" Harry said.  
The old man smiled at Harry, and turned to Snape.  
"Ah, Severus, I see that you have arrived before me. I trust that our friend, Mr. Korvus is completely comfortable?"  
Casting a glance at the bound, gagged, and struggling Korvus, Harry felt for certain that comfort did not describe his condition. Snape no longer appeared to be holding his wand. He gave a stiff bow to the other man.  
"Headmaster. Korvus was attempting to make him handle this." He pointed at the watch on the table, but did not touch it.  
The old man peered over the tops of his half-rim spectacles, examining the watch.  
"Harry, I want you to stay right where you are and do not approach the table. Do you understand?"  
Harry nodded, not sure how this strange old man knew his name.  
"Headmaster, perhaps I should take young Mr. Potter--"  
"No, Severus."  
Snape scowled but didn't argue further. The old man took a wand from the folds of his robe and prodded the watch. The watch rose up off the table. The chain coiled beneath it like the body of the a snake, and rubies glinted in the candlelight like a pair of burning eyes. The watch opened wide like a mouth. From where Harry stood, he could tell the watch face seemed wrong. The hands were running in the wrong the direction and there were six of them. The other side held a faded photograph of a young man with a narrow face and dark hair. The watch bobbed and waved, just like the head of a snake. It seemed to be sizing up the room.  
"Is that my father?" Harry asked, taking an involuntary step forward.  
The watch swung toward Harry. The face in the photo turned sharply. It broke into an unpleasant sneer. Harry let out a small yelp. He felt Snape's hand on his shoulder pull him back. Slowly, the watch returned it's attention to the old man who still held his wand.  
"Dumbledore," the picture said.  
"Yes, it's me, Tom," the old man said. An odd smile played over his face. "Do I have the pleasure of addressing the true Lord Voldemort?"  
"Sadly, an echo only," The face smiled, glancing at Harry. "Is that him?"  
Dumbledore nodded.  
"He doesn't seem to be made of the same stuff as you and I, does he? Tell me, what has happened to my idiot servant Korvus?"  
"He is currently occupied."  
"I wish to speak with him."  
"That is not possible, Tom."  
The man in the picture considered this for a moment, his eyes turning into slits. The watch swung, and he regarded Harry once again.  
"Boy, do you know who I am?"  
Harry shook his head.  
"I am the wizard who turned you into an orphan."  
The watch darted forward, the chain lengthening. A sudden burning pain etched itself into Harry's forehead. His scar felt as if it were on fire. He grabbed his head in both hands. He couldn't see. He felt his knees slam into the floor before he knew he was falling.  
Suddenly, Dumbledore was pulling him to his feet. The watch had become a smoking, twisted lump of metal, the rubies were cracked and blackened. The heavy chain had shrunk and broken in several places. Snape stood very still. He had gone very pale.  
Dumbledore peered down into Harry's face. "Are you all right, Harry?"  
"Yes, sir. Who was that man?"  
Dumbledore looked as if he were about to speak, then stopped. He turned to Snape.  
"Severus, I want you take Korvus to the Ministry. There are a number of Aurors who would like to speak to him. And I would very much appreciate it, Severus, if he didn't have any disfiguring accidents."  
Snape smirked and pointed his wand at the bound, squirming Korvus. As if jerked up by invisible strings, the tied man floated, his toes a few inches above the floor. His eyes rolled from side to side, glancing from Snape to Dumbeldore, and back.  
Snape cleared his throat, keeping his wand pointed at the floating man. "Perhaps it would be wise, headmaster, if we were to take Potter with us? It is obvious that his Muggle family no longer offers him adequate protection."  
Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Live with wizards? That would be excellent! It would certainly beat dodging Dudley's punches everday.  
But Dumbledore shook his head.  
"Not a week goes by that I do not receive an owl from some well meaning wizarding family offering to adopt Harry. And I must repeat to you what I have said to them time and time again. Harry is simply not safe in our world."  
"Safe? Korvus was able to take him in broad daylight from the street. Had it not been for--"  
"Yes, yes, quite right, quite right. But I am about to rectify that. It was a foolish oversight on my part that I deeply regret."  
Snape gave Harry a final glance. He could tell what the other man was feeling--fear, frustration, disappointment. They were all feelings Harry knew from living with the Dursleys. With a nod to Dumbledore, Snape waved his wand. With a loud pop, both he and Korvus were gone. Harry and Dumbledore were alone. Harry knew that now that the other two men were gone, Dumbledore would answer his questions. He just had to.  
"Harry, I know that you have a lot of questions. However, now is not the time for me to answer them. All too soon you will forget everything that has happened to you since you left your Aunt and Uncle's house, and that would include any answers I could give you now."  
"I'll never forget it. You used magic. It was brilliant!"  
Dumbledore smiled again. "Would you like to see more magic?"  
"Yes, please."  
Dumbledore took a small tin from a pocket in his robe. He opened it, removed a small sweet, put the tin away and waved his wand over the candy. It rose up, hovered over his palm, and then began flying around the room like a bee. It streaked from one corner of the room to another, bounced off the wall, and circled Harry's head, humming and buzzing, before resuming its exploration of the room.  
"Do you think you can catch it?"  
"Sure!"  
Harry watched it carefully. The first time it came near him, he missed. The buzzing candy seemed to suspect his intent, because the next two times it flew near Harry, it sailed out of reach before he could get his hand up. Harry became very still. He waited. He watched. The candy zoomed toward him, flew back. When Harry didn't react, it came a little closer. Still Harry waited. He could see it very clearly now. The candy looked yellow, like a lemon drop, and it vibrated, buzzing quietly in the air, not six inches from the tip of his nose. Without even thinking, Harry snatched it out of the air.  
Dumbledore applauded, his eyes twinkling.  
"Very good, Harry. Now, I must ask you a favor."  
Harry felt full to bursting, proud of his feat. The candy wiggled and squirmed in his hand. "Yes, sir?"  
"I must ask you to promise me that after I return you to your home, you will not run away from your Aunt and Uncle's house again."  
All the warmth in Harry disappeared. "I won't go back."  
"Harry--"  
"No! I hate it there. They're mean to me, They didn't even know it was my birthday today." He felt tears forming in his eyes. He tried to blink them back. He didn't want to go blubbering like a baby in front this wizard. "That other man said I might be able to live with you."  
"You must also have heard me say it would not be safe for you to come with me. Harry, it is important that you realize that I am not punishing you by sending you back to the Dursleys. It is for your protection. They are your family. Their home is your home."  
"It doesn't feel like home."  
Dumbledore smiled again, but a sad smile. The twinkle had gone out of his eyes.  
"Please, Harry. I need you to promise me that you will not run away from home. You have to say it."  
Harry cast a glance at the still smoking watch on the table.  
"I promise I won't run away from home again. But I'm not going to forget. Even though you're making me go back."  
Dumbledore sighed. "Thank you, Harry. Why don't eat that candy before it melts? You'll find it doesn't have much flight left in it."  
Harry opened his hand. The small sweet feebly rolled from side to side as if trying to gather momentum.  
"What flavor is it?"  
"In honor of your birthday, it is your favorite flavor."  
Harry eyed the candy suspiciously, but popped it in his mouth.  
"You're right. It is my favorite flavor."  
It tasted creamy and sweet and Harry couldn't remember what it was he was tasting, or if he had in fact ever tasted it before. But it was so good that he knew Dumbledore was right. It was his favorite flavor. He was still trying to figure out it what it was when his eyes closed heavily, and he fell into a deep sleep.  
  
*  
  
"Get up, boy!"  
Harry felt like he was swimming up through dark water and realized that Uncle Vernon was pulling him to his feet and shaking him roughly. Harry stood on the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive. The sun had gone down and the air was chilly. Uncle Vernon gazed nervously up and down the street.  
"Where have you skulking off to, then?"  
Harry had no idea where he had been. He couldn't remember anything since he had left the house earlier. He had dreamed of a bicycle that turned into a bee. But Uncle Vernon wasn't interested in dreams.  
"I don't know."  
"I suppose you think you're being funny?"  
"No, Uncle Vernon."  
"Too right, you're not. Running off, then sneaking back in the dead of night like some--some sneak!" He grabbed Harry by the back of the neck and with a final, nervous glance down Privet Drive, pushed Harry inside and slammed the door on the night. 


End file.
